Rencontre
by Hedonistic Opportunist
Summary: Sometimes reunions take place in the oddest of places. SasuNaru


**Rencontre**

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Kishimoto does.

* * *

Naruto could hardly believe it. This inn was a rotting, urine-smelling hellhole – and calling it a hellhole was a compliment. It struck him as an insult to be awarded such poor recognition after working his ass off on that damnable mission. But he was too broke (he had spent all of his income on ramen) to find himself a better stay for the night. Still, it was ludicrous be forced to sleep in such a place. Clasping his sweating and shaking hands Naruto had to restrain himself, in order not to commit anything rash …and unpardonably foolish.

And strangling the scrawny, hideous old host Hisaya to death was definitely not on the list of smart things to do, unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life in some dingy prison cell. Being decidedly in favour of his freedom, Naruto maintained his self-control as much as he could (which was difficult when his blood was boiling and he felt like exploding).

"Come along, my lad. Come along," the morosely dead and creepy sounding voice of the host whispered, leading him through the dark with a badly burning candle, deformed and scratched out from over-usage. The candle was nearly burnt out and Naruto had difficulty seeing – it was mere luck and agility of limbs that did not have him mortally wounded. Otherwise, had he been less fortunate, Naruto might have crushed his neck, broken his ribs or died from a concussion (some things even Kyuubi was incapable of healing); the floor was that slippery and covered with things that were not worth mentioning (unless cigarette butts, opened cans, bony fish heads and used condoms are a thing of acute interest).

The slippery filthy floor was not the worst (Naruto had an inkling that it wasn't wet from the water, but a far smellier and unpleasant substance which shouldn't be named). Nor the old wall: there were scabs of green paint falling here and there, but it still looked halfway presentable, if one disregarded the fact that green was a sickeningly glittering sort of green.

The hall felt bare and lifeless, though a clashing and mixing of other noises could be perceived from the other rooms; there was usual thumping, stamping, clattering, restless talking and snoring intermingling into a large mess of noise that sounded very much like bees swarming around their queen. Those were the other guests, some of whom Naruto had seen before the inn. It had been a fairly wretched mess of old, wasted looked men and drunken scum – definitely not the sort of society Naruto liked. But even't that was not the highlight of this bad dream.

As the hall was badly or not heated all, it was briskly cold -- the uncomfortable and chilling sort of cold that one experiences in winter when breath comes to a standstill and turns in a cloud of vapour. The sort of cold that makes one's fingers turn to stiff limps, liable to break at any given instant. Naruto hated it and forced himself to remain quiet: he knew it would have been counterproductive to insult the host.

Yet, the worst – the climax of this absurd and perplexing nightmare was the host himself: a balding, repugnant fellow with hollow cheekbones, sallow skin and thin fingers with long, chewed upon fingernails. The fingernails were also yellow with bits of skin sticking out, pealing off like an onion's.

He was in the habit of grinning like a famished wolf, baring his black teeth and disgustingly purple tongue. His eyes, small and red, did not seem to focus on a particular point, but were always a-turning and looking at everything and nothing: he was nearly a sleepwalker, too, always on the point of staggering and collapsing on top of Naruto.

"When my darling wife was still alive, it used to be so much cleaner," the senile old man was whispering, not expecting anyone to listen to him," But as I'm old and suffering from rheumatism, I can't do much. It's a crying shame. It's really a shame."

Hisaya looked out of the open window whilst repeating those words again. For once, in opposition to his former staggering, he stood alert and stared straight head. In front of him a mountain stretched out for miles, wide and intimidating. But the man did not see the mountains or the lake flowing quietly: he only saw the glimpse of a flittering shadow. What he really saw, Naruto could not tell because he could solely make out the mountain, the forest spreading about it and quiet lake flowing steadily…on and on (in all honesty, Naruto was bored to death watching all this. Sceneries didn't do much for him…).

"Every day without her is …unbearable."

Meanwhile, Naruto felt extremely uncomfortable in the widower's presence; to hear such deep-embedded grief and despair was something private and he felt like unwanted vermin, eavesdropping like this (he nearly felt like a peeping-tom who had caught one of his teachers crying or having a fight with his wife). Indeed, the worst was that it was not recent, but he could sense that it was deep-rooted, profound and agonizing pain that had become like a mantra, pecking at the man's heart until he was nothing – literally, nothing – but a degraded excuse of a man. Until the sole reassurance of the man was death: only then he would be able to taste peace again. Only then, he would be finally free.

_Just like I shall only be free, until I have saved __**him **__from misery. _

Inspecting him closely, Naruto was shocked to discover traces of lingering handsomeness in the man's faded features: the cheekbones had once been sharp and high, the straw-thin frame lithe and the pale green eyes probably bright and expressive. With the wife being rotting in her grave, the widower had allowed everything else to crumble and decay, too.

All of a sudden, Hisaya's reflections came to a halt upon realising that he was not alone: he had been so wrapped up in reminiscences that he had forgotten about the guest. He bowed his head and with a nod towards the further end of the hall, motioned to a door not far away. Then, picking up the candle he had allowed to rest on the floor, Hisaya resumed his staggering gait.

The man led Naruto to his room with slow, idle steps; he walked leisurely as if he had all time in the world. Again, Naruto had to remind himself that kicking his host in the shins was not a good way to fasten things; no, on the contrary, he had to remain perfectly and inconspicuously patient, if he wanted to have a good night's rest (he was so exhausted that he could have fallen asleep anywhere by this point).

Naturally, the room was not charming; it was even -- and that was barely imaginable -- dirtier than the hall. The bed he was supposed to sleep in, though large, looked fairly uncomfortable: it was an old, hospital type of bed with a hard mattress and stained blankets. Uncarpeted, the floor was cold and covered with a nice sheet of dust. Although he could not see it, Naruto could smell it -- it was the accumulated smell of decaying apples, moths and piss. Well, he could endure it; he could spend a night in this awful place without committing suicide (he was not the type to lose control because of something like that). He had slept under worse conditions. Namely, he had slept under bridges, shared a tent with a perverted ninja who could not keep his hands to himself while sleeping and once spent the night in the open air, listening to cats mating. So, this was not bad. In fact, it was tolerable.

So, he had to make the best of things. When the door was slammed shut, he squared his shoulders, clenched his fists and kicked off his shoes. Eyeing the bed, he took of his jacket and decided to use it as a cushion (the bed had no cushions). He was about to make himself comfortable on the bed when a knock interrupted his actions.

"Come in," Naruto said, trying his best to stifle the frustration and lingering disappointment in his voice.

The door opened and revealed the unwelcome presence of his host and another being: an indiscernible shadow was lurking behind the hideous grandpa. Again, the old man was grinning in his same unsettling manner as if he knew that life was merely a downward spiral or rollercoaster that only went down, down, down...until the people in it were sick and half-dead. It made Naruto feel uncomfortable to have that man – that degraded shadow of person – staring at him.

Naruto did not like that penetrating, questioning gaze: it made him feel naked. Most of all, it just made him want to smash the old idiot's teeth out: nobody had the right to gape at him like that; he wasn't a freak or something like that.

"I apologise for the disturbance, but I need you to share this room with this young gentleman here," the old skeleton said, pointing to the indistinguishable shadow behind him. Slowly, the black-surrounded silhouette seemed to move in response, but it still remained hidden and unseen. Naruto already didn't like this "gentleman" already – anyone who hid in the shadows, instead of saying "hello" like a normal person was despicable.

"Why should I? Aren't there enough rooms to accommodate him?" Naruto asked tiredly. He was fed up with all of this: it wasn't bad enough to sleep like this. No, now he had to share his bed with some screwed-up weirdo.

"You see, that's the problem: there aren't. And unless I'm supposed to throw the young man out, it would be better for him to sleep here."

"It's only for a night," the old man added. Hisaya's knitted eyebrows suggested that he was troubled; his gaze was averted towards the window and his mouth was set in a grim line.

"It's alright, let him sleep here," Naruto said, giving in.

Naruto was not a cold-hearted person. Outside, he could hear the rain falling and the wind roaring; there was no way he would have allowed another man to sleep outside. He wasn't going to be responsible for someone's death.

"That's kind of you, my lad."

The old man bowed and retreated into the darkness, allowing the nameless shadow to step forward; his tentative steps towards the room could be heard. At first, Naruto did not look up; he was trying to get into bed again (he decided to sleep with his clothes on). The mattress proved to be hard as stone.

"This is so stupid. I don't understand why I as the future Hokage should be disgraced like this."

Then, as a response, a chuckle resounded, shattered all the illusions of treacherous silence and peace. Naruto was annoyed: the stranger was bothering him with rudeness. Why did he always have to get the short end of the stick?

In order to utter a string of curses at the insolent wretch, he looked up, expecting to behold some toothless, idiotic-looking peasant with a bindle flung over his shoulders. He expected to see a grim, cross and middle-aged face. But, instead, Naruto was rendered speechless for the first time in his life.

He did not expect to see him, of all theoretically possible things. Even an elephant with a dodo sitting on his head would not have surprised him to such an extent.

A sense of numbness and disbelief grabbed hold of him; he choked in his breath and shuddered. His face grew pale and he clutched the blanket of the bed, coming close to tearing it.

There, only twenty steps away from him stood Sasuke, looking as cross and dissatisfied as always. He had not changed much in appearance: his face was ghastly beautiful and his body still the perfect depiction of fragility, elegance and strength intertwined in one. He looked unconcerned and apathetic, but Naruto knew that this was a façade. He could tell by the darkening of Sasuke's eyes and stiffening of his frame that the boy had hardly expected to meet him, either.

"So, it's you, dobe? Shit, no matter how hard I try to avoid you, somehow we're always thrown together. Maybe I'm cursed to rot in hell with you."

There was the same taunting sound in his voice, predisposed to create conflict and eager to hurt. Nothing had changed: he was still the same. Or he feigned to be.

Funnily, Naruto had always expected their reunion to be strikingly more emotional and complicated. He had envisioned brightness, a charade of happiness and fields of blossoming flowers; he had imagined carrying or dragging Sasuke back to the village with a pride and glowing heart. He had expected an embrace or smiles – something that would assure him that he was not only who cared. This was a bit anti-climatic, he had to say. And the worst was that he didn't know what to do.

However, unable to break old habits – they really die hard; he did the only thing he was familiar with. Rising from the awful bed with an uneasy alacrity, Naruto walked right over to his long-lost friend and – struck him across the face. Struck him with all the repressed anger and bitterness; meaning to make the fool understand.

"That's for making Sakura-chan cry, bastard," Naruto growled out, rubbing his fist and challenging Sasuke to say anything in return.

Sasuke merely grinned, wiping the blood off his face; he pretended as if it did not concern him. But it did. Otherwise he wouldn't have opened his mouth to speak.

"You haven't changed one bit, idiot. You're still faster with your hands than your brain."

"Oh shut up, Sasuke. Just shut up. You're all kinds of stupid, you know that?"

"Aren't you mistaking me for yourself?"

After all time of being apart, it was odd that the familiarity between them was not strained or awkward; that after not seeing, talking with each other for so long, Naruto felt that nothing had changed. Well, at least he felt that the need to bicker with Sasuke had not changed. In fact, they could have been at the brink of a cliff with the end of the world approaching, and there would still be these exchanges of oral and immature violence, foolish bravado and inane fighting. That would never change – they were both too stubborn and dependant on the past for that to change.

Sasuke had moved from the doorway and was eyeing the room with disgust. He was standing a few inches from the bed.

"Sasuke, I …what the hell are you doing here?"

"It's none of your concern, Naruto," the other answered threateningly promising mutilation of all sorts if the inquiries were to be continued. Naruto, however, was not the type to be intimidated that easily: he was far too familiar with Sasuke's tactics to be frightened.

"You fucking fool! It's very much of my concern. As long as you're my best friend, your concerns are mine as well!"

"We're not best friends. We've been enemies for quite a while now," an expectedly uncommitted voice replied.

"So? It doesn't change anything, you foul-spitting moron."

By now, Sasuke had let himself fall on the bed without bothering to take his clothes off. Naruto didn't care; the bed was dirty anyway.

"Naruto, you're hopeless, really. Can't you just let it be?"

No, Sasuke was not lying – he really was hopeless and a fool. Still, he was not really hopeless, not as long as he had friends to support him and a destiny to fulfil. And a part of that destiny involved Sasuke: he would save him. He would make him come crawling back to Konoha, even if he had to bite the dust for that to happen. He would have never admitted it – not without threatening damage, but he considered Sasuke to be worth dying for; he couldn't tell why, not exactly at least. Like the vast future ahead of him, it was one of things he could not pinpoint, though he knew that it was important.

One day, perhaps, he would understand.

"Well, I won't force it out of you. If you want to be a jackass, fine. I'm going to sleep. As for yourself, you can either spend the night moping about or go to sleep too. The latter would probably be better for you, as lack of the former has made you rather wacky in the head, bastard."

"What are you trying to insinuate?"

"Nothing... Can't you just let me sleep? Turn around and quit making that bitchy face of yours. I don't want have nightmares."

It was not that he did not wish to talk…but he was really tired and drained: his eyes closed the instant his head met his pillow. Then, when he was slumbering heavily, the devil could have appeared, frogs fallen from the sky or a badly conducted orchestra evoked chaos, and none of those appearances would have managed in waking him up. At least, that is what would have happened if a certain someone had not stopped him from doing so (Naruto really wondered what when on in the bastard's brain).

Naruto felt lips descending on his: it was a maddening, rough and unexpected experience. Of all things he had expected, it was not to be smothered half-to death. Sasuke, it seemed, happened to know as much about kissing than he did himself (which meant that he knew nought). One second, Sasuke was trying to lick his lips and when he opened his mouth in response, stuck his tongue. Naruto did not reply at once, not knowing whether he was supposed to feel repulsed or aroused. Perhaps, he was both. Perhaps, he was merely too euphoric to care about doing it properly and not like some rabid idiot on a sugar high. Any thoughts on the appropriateness or the logic of the situation felt on deaf ears. Both teenagers were too eager, impatient and frankly immature to care for such trivialities.

With his eyes still open, he could feel Sasuke's face against his, all scrunched up and looking concentrated; it suddenly dawned upon him that Sasuke was trying to make this good, that he was earnestly trying to be considerate. Yet, on second thoughts, Naruto bethought himself: Sasuke, being the selfish brat he was, was doing this for himself. He had a set a challenge for himself and would not allow anyone to beat him; not even when it came to exchanging intimate gestures. He was always going to be a stuck-up, arrogant idiot.

Their mouths met again and again with fierceness: it was slightly awkward because neither of them was sure were their hands were supposed to go. Neither of them knew whether it was alright to moan or sigh loudly without looking like some blasted idiot (moaning and writhing with pleasure was only something for virginal girls, after all). In short, Naruto felt like a blind man trying to light a candle in a dark, crowded room.

This was not like fighting at all. Fighting was easier because it was not about pleasing one another: there was no tenderness, no fumbling awkwardness and insecurity. Rather than that, it was about instilling pride into his breast and proving every living soul that he was a hundred times stronger, faster and better than Sasuke. Now, there was nothing he could prove, other that he was hopelessly foolish and obsessed with Sasuke.

That he was weak when it came to him.

He was on top of him, grinding his body against his own and fumbling awkwardly at his shirt. Sasuke's weight did not seem suffocating to Naruto because he was relatively thin. Not that he was a fragile porcelain doll – such comparisons were nothing but trite rubbish. Subconsciously, Naruto wondered why he did not push the boy off of him and take control of the situation: he could have done so easily enough. Besides, he was not the type to give in, not when it involved his pride or manliness. But he did not want to take control this time; this was, entertaining and it felt good to succumb, to give in for once.

With some stroke of luck, Sasuke managed to open his shirt – he was tearing halfway, in fact -- and run his cold fingers against his stomach; the sensation was agonizingly maddening, for the fingers ran feather-light and slowly over his skin – touching and not touching at the same time. He never reached downward – that would have been too dangerous -- but kept rubbing and teasing. The teasing itself was enough to send Naruto over the bend because he was too impatient to have his wits (and nerves) strained like that.

His lips were on his neck, his face, chest everywhere and hot breath made him shiver; again, Naruto was being kissed, but not kissed. Whenever he expected his lips to be attacked, only an assault of hushed breath followed. It was exhilarating, but dangerous as well…

"What are we doing?" Naruto whispered hazily, reaching out to touch Sasuke's face; he was not prone to be tender, but this time the situation just called out for it (perhaps, it was just the familiarity that made him do it).

The boy, though his expression revealed surprise, did not slap his hand away, but leaned in into it, allowing himself to look right down at Naruto's face. He did not betray any emotions, save for slight annoyance.

"Can't you tell or is your brain too small to even grasp such a primitive thing?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"So, spit it out."

"Sasuke, as –fucking and awesome this feels, I'm not going to let you fuck me," Naruto said somewhat hesitantly, wondering what the hell had got into him," Not if it means that you're just going to take advantage of me and leave tomorrow, anyway. I'm not going to be your fuck-toy."

Sasuke seemed bothered, but let go of Naruto and flopped down on the bed beside him; for a while, everything was silent and only the rain pattering against the window pane could be heard. Then a rustle of sheets and Sasuke had pulled the covers over him.

"So you're just willing to let me go again? I'm disappointed, Naruto," he said mockingly. If Naruto had not known better, he would have nearly believed that the boy was really disappointed. But he wasn't foolish enough to do that; he knew that Sasuke was just leading him on.

_He hasn't changed. He's still only got one thing on his mind. _

"No, I'm not. I'll never let you go, bastard. Even if you kill me, I'll drive you insane… I'll haunt you to death. I swear I'll do so."

"Whatever..."

"You should know by now that I'll bring you home at any cost, Sasuke. Whether you want to or not. It just isn't any fun without kicking your silly ass."

"You mean, it's not fun to have your silly ass kicked…I never thought that you were such a masochist, Naruto."

"Not any less than you are, Sasuke. You've never been anything than that."

That was the last Naruto said that night. Without waiting for a reaction from Sasuke, he turned around and dozed off into a dreamless sleep. He should have scolded himself for being that careless, but at that instant he did not care: he was tired, worn out to point of drooling carelessness. The world as well as Sasuke could go to hell – he would not move an inch this night. Tomorrow Sasuke might leave, but he did not care. After all, he was fast and capable of tracing the bastard till the end of the world, if he had to. Maybe, this was his way of proving Sasuke wrong; he wasn't going to act like the others, but just let him be.

That was his way of showing Sasuke that he trusted him. That he was willing to give him a chance. He definitely wasn't going to give up on that self-centred bastard. It as was simple as that.

* * *

A series of noises woke Naruto up on the next morning (fairly obscene and loud noises which reminded him of horses wheezing and pigs grunting): amongst the clashing, scurrying and skittering in the hall, he could hear the banging of doors and two men exchanging profanely uttered analogies. To say the least, one of the words vibrating, or tossing back and forth across the hall, was "fuck you" – an undeniably eloquent remark. A remark which – undoubtedly -- expressed genuine affection and appreciation for another person (Naruto knew that because he used to address Sasuke in such a way).

Naruto, who been dreaming _rather_ pleasantly (very pleasantly indeed, mind you), would have, growling and snarling like a foaming dog, hurled himself at the offenders, if he had not felt that weary and knocked out. Instead, he buried his face in the pillow (which being his own jacket smelled of dried earth, moss and sweat) and prayed for the noise to be gone. Well, he didn't really pray, but cursed and swore until his face was blue and purple. To his dismay, the noises didn't disappear – they only grew louder and more frantically obscene in their meaning. All of this, Naruto thought, was rather bothersome and for an instant, he understood why Shikamaru always looked that dissatisfied. Sometimes, other people could really be a pain in the ass.

"I'll never drink that blasted whisky again; it tastes like piss mixed with bug-infected water. It wasn't worth the money – not at all!" a loud voice – ringing through the hall with a taunting force -- exclaimed. Boisterous, bustling with intimidating energy, the voice conveyed that the speaker was the sort of man whom you shouldn't – didn't -- tangle with. If you did, it was at your own peril: either you would end up as a bloody pulp or be smothered to death.

"Shut up, you fool. My head's throbbing and your stupid prattle makes it throb even more. I need a hot towel. Now, where's the old man when you need him?" another voice said, also gruff and harsh in its intonation. However, though he had the same brutish quality in his speaking like his counterpart, his voice was also calmer, deeper and more serious.

"I don't know. Why don't you move your sorry ass and look for him?"

"Why don't you do that, lazy bum? I'm not your maid and won't do anything, unless I want to."

"Screw you, asshole," the speaker muttered, feigning annoyance. The tone, however, was far from angry, but suggested teasing and a badly disguised sexual invitation. No one in their right mind would have failed to note that the slurred, throaty and drawling sounds were supposed to be erotic (whether it was arousing or not, was an entirely different matter).

"Your wish is my command."

What followed after Naruto could only guess (and the guessing made him sick to the stomach). Anyhow, the sounds of a bed creaking provided him with enough material to deduce what they were doing.

To say the least, Naruto was not amused. In fact, he felt like strangling, pinching or beating someone into a pulp; he felt like splashing ice-cold water over his face to calm himself down (again he felt on the verge of exploding, threatening to burst like a hot balloon). His head felt very dizzy and Naruto fancied that he was in a shapeless world, where blank whiteness dominated and everything else was compromised of little moving dots that twirled round and round – it was a nauseating sensation, to say the least.

He smashed his hand against the wall, hoping to wake up and find that all of this was a cracked-up, obscure nightmare. To his dismay, however, this wasn't a nightmare. If it had been a nightmare, he would have been able to force the awful sounds out of his mind (and his hand would not hurt that much).

The process of waking up, as already mentioned, had not been pleasant for him (he had been torn out of a visually-stimulating dream that involved Sasuke and handcuffs, so there shouldn't have been any surprise about him feeling rather angry). Shaking the rather erotic images off of his mind, Naruto was confronted with two thoughts: the need of a shower and the fact that Sasuke was gone.

Enshrouded by the flicker of daylight coming from the blank windows, the room looked even shabbier and filthier than it had the evening before: Naruto could clearly see that the paper on the wall was peeling off, revealing white murky, cracking clusters. The old floor, darkened by dust and footprints of mudded shoes, was littered with nutshells; however, it still looked halfway presentable, if one was blind and not necessarily inclined to shriek easily.

Naruto's thought, however, did not focus on the surroundings for too long because one of thoughts seized control over him and he started to reflect -- and the thinking made his head throb even worse.

In spite of hoping against hope, Naruto was not surprised about Sasuke's absence; similarly to an irredeemable masochist, he had been too blind to confront that irrefutable fact. That fact that Sasuke had not wanted to stay and Naruto was still too weak to make him stay. No, it was not a betrayal; it had not been a betrayal of any kind because Sasuke had not promised anything. He had merely taunted and reopened some wounds, but never promised anything.

Still, it was like a punch in the guts and Naruto had trouble focusing, feeling weary and sick. Then again, an inner voice told him that he shouldn't have been surprised. Sasuke had not given him any sign of wanting to stay; he had been simply too presumptuous to assume that things had changed for the better. Perhaps it had been the fact that bickering with Sasuke had just made him forget that there were too many obstacles standing in the way.

_First of all, there's the whole Itachi shebang. And then the fact that Sasuke's a traitor of sorts: I don't he'll be greeted with open arms. Of course, there's Sakura – I've forgotten all about her… I'm such an idiot for forgetting that. I've forgotten that I would never let anything hurt her. And making out Sasuke would definitely hurt her. _

All of a sudden, it dawned upon him that he had not merely fooled out with Sasuke, but had actually been pretty close to giving in. That thought scared him (he had been close to having sex, darn it). The longer he reflected on the thought and recalled Sasuke's taste and the feel of his body against his own (they had fitted together perfectly like two missing bits of a puzzle), the sicker and wearier he felt; Naruto felt a chill run down his spine and his thoughts suddenly gained a monotonous quality.

_Damn it. Should I have continued…? Was I wrong in stopping him? Damn, now I sound like a stupid loser. I hate him for doing this to me. _

A part of Naruto regretted that he had not grasped the chance and immersed himself in that intimacy: even short-lasting pleasure with Sasuke was better than having nothing. Naruto was forced to admit that he was masochistic and self-sacrificing enough to even be content with the least. Actually, to say the truth, he was confused as hell.

In order to forget these conflicting emotions and focus on more pressing matters instead, Naruto decided to rise out of bed and take a shower. He felt that he needed one badly (he was partly afraid of the germs and other crawling things that were in the bed); he felt smelly, filthy and sweat-soaked like a gardener who had spent too much toiling in the garden. In other words, he needed to at least feel the sprinkle of cold water dripping over his face --anything to make help him gather his thoughts.

Yet, when he approached the dark, shady room that was supposed to be the shower (Hisaya had mentioned it briefly in passing), he nearly reeled from shock. What he found was a cobweb-covered, muddy and dirty floor littered with broken tiles; it smelled of decaying leaves, rotting apples, muddy water and something else that he couldn't define. In the middle of the room, he could discern a jug filled with something that was anything, but water (at least, Naruto didn't want to believe that the sharp stench coming from the jug was water).

Naruto had not expected much, but he had certainly not considered not being able to shower at all. Still, Naruto decided that were there was a will, there had to be a way and without further ado, he scurried out of the atrocious excuse for a bathroom, quitted the hall and washed his face in the lake.

* * *

In the daylights the hall looked even worse. Now Naruto could clearly see why the floor was slippery and dangerous to tread upon: it was covered with dirt. But he didn't linger around, but walked on – he had something to do.

He did not necessarily feel like knocking on Hisaya's bedroom door, but Naruto had no other option. After all, as tempting as it proved _not_ to pay for the host's meagre services – sleeping in a mot-bespattered bed was definitely not a good service – he did not want to be ungrateful; he was not going to behave like an undignified jackass. No, Naruto was beyond that. With some hesitance, he knocked on the door nearly timidly lest the old man was still sleeping. When there was no reaction and he failed to detect any sound, Naruto decided to open the door, though he felt rude for barging in like that. However, soon he noticed that it was not necessary to barge in.

The door was halfway open and with a sickening creak – a squeaking, whining and disheartening sound, it opened wide ajar. He was greeted with a dismal sight. Again, he saw the green walls, the darkened floors and the dusty smell. Yet in its shadiness, there was something pleasant about it. Though the plants in the pots looked on the verge of wasting away, they were still green. In spite of the stifling oppression of the room, it looked reasonably clean and tidy: there were no cobwebs visible and the furniture was polished, shining even.

In some way, of course, Naruto felt cheated and he felt slight anger pulsing in his veins: it was unfair that the rest of the inn was in such an ungracious condition when the host was clearly capable of keeping things in order, after all. Then, however, he recalled the host's partly inane ramblings and understood – this room was a haven, a carefully shielded memory that old man had wished to preserve.

"_Everyday without her is…unbearable."_

No, Naruto could not – should not – think about Sasuke's departure again; he could not allow himself to be dejected and saddened by the recent turn of events. It was merely a slap in the face to have Sasuke leave him like that, but he was not going to be beaten by a wave of depression: he was not going to waste his life away. Had he given into the pain, Naruto would have refrained from quitting the bed and stared morosely into the wall, counting the cracks and dots on the wall. Again, Naruto forced himself to break out of the self-constructed reverie and return to the present; it was like slamming his head against a wall repeatedly.

"Hisaya-san, I'm sorry for intruding..."

Naruto could not finish his request, hearing his own voice strained and nearly fearful: he had never heard such a tone in his own voice before (he felt something inside of him chill and for a second, Naruto had the premonition that something was very much amiss here). There was no of visible sign of Hisaya and his awkward request fell on deaf ears; the room was eerily quiet and gave off no sound other than occasional creaking of the floor and some ticking noise – Naruto could not tell where it came from (he presumed that it was some old clock, hidden in a remote corner of the room).

However, when Naruto's eyes suddenly caught side of a bed situated below a large window, he found an unmoving figure sprawled on – closer inspection revealed that it was a human being. Something inside of Naruto's heart constricted and he felt hysteria, nausea and shock coming over him – he felt cold, hot and like vomiting at the same time. There, lying stiff and unmoving was the old man, still dressed the in same garb Naruto had first seen him with. At first, Naruto tried to convince himself that the old man was merely a heavy sleeper, though he had never seen someone that immobile in sleep before. He had never seen a person that pale and sickly pallid before, either – but it was the expression on Hisaya's face that arrested Naruto's attention.

The old man's expression was one of grateful happiness and liberation; Hisaya looked as if a huge burden had been taken off his shoulders. In fact, death made him appear halfway presentable again: his features were no longer tarnished by that creeping, unsettling grin and he looked oddly relaxed. Though open, the eyes were no longer peeking at all corners, but seemed to focus on one point; it was nearly as if the man had died with his eyes fixed on that particular spot – nearly as if he had seen a ghost. Now, Naruto could see that his impression of the man's lingering handsomeness had been no illusion. Indeed, it was a twist of irony that death had been necessary to prove that the old man had not been a goblin, but a human-being. Indeed, it had been frighteningly easy to dismiss Hisaya as a blood-sucking ghoul, but it was hard to imagine that this man had once been young and full of passion, hope and feelings.

Naruto was shocked, pained and speechless: he felt rooted to the spot and could not even breath properly, lest it assured him that this was real and not some figment of his imagination. Still, some childish reasoning in his mind tried to convince him that this was a nightmare and not gritty reality: again, he tried to hope against hope and protect himself from the truth. This time, however, his determination didn't work and Naruto was confronted with the unavoidable: Hisaya was no more, and that _thing_, corpse in front of him was only a shell; it would soon decay and return to dust.

That simple realisation of Hisaya having transcended or become part of an all-surrounding nothingness nearly sent Naruto tumbling: he had forgotten that seeing someone dead was like suffocating or having put one's head underwater. Momentarily, Naruto believed that he was twelve again – standing in front of Haku with his claws stretched out and ready to kill.

In spite of the years and the fading memories, Naruto had still not forgotten him; his death had imprinted himself into his mind. Even now, a pang of regret reminded Naruto that he should have persuaded Haku from sacrificing himself like that; he felt that he should have done something – anything – to stop Haku from throwing his life away. He should have knocked the boy unconscious to stop him. Then again, Naruto sensed that it had been Haku's decision to die: it had provided him with happiness; he had died with a smile on his face and there was nothing Naruto could have done to change that.

It had been a smile that was one of relief and indescribable thankfulness (even now, after so long, Naruto could not forget that smile or the shock that Haku's death had had on him.)

Next to the corpse's body, Naruto found a faded photograph, tattered and slightly dog-eared at the corners; it had been touched, looked upon and kept guarded in a pocket for a long time. There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about the picture, other than the faded black which looked nearly like dripping, smudged black ink.

What he saw was the image of a woman, standing underneath a tree and holding her hands folded in front of her. The woman's appearance was one of tranquillity and soft-spoken wisdom; her pose was one elegant and orderly.

It was one of those images that struck one as surrealistic, giving off the impression that the person depicted had never existed (that he was gone with the wind, had simply dissolved into nothingness). Naruto carefully took the photograph and placed it on the old man's chest, feeling that this would be the most appropriate thing to do; he felt that the photograph did not belong anywhere else but there.

Then, leaning over the old man, he swept his hands over the Hisaya's face and closed the old man's eyes, making it appear as if the old man were merely asleep. With a last look at the him, Naruto shuddered and closed the partly scratched door with a thud, feeling numb and inexplicably uncaring about anything.

As to paying for his stay, a corpse didn't require any money (and as much as Naruto wanted to give him something, he needed the money badly).

* * *

On his way to his own room, Naruto caught sight of the two men that had been quarrelling in the morning (he recognised them by their voices); they were in their late twenties wearing too large shirts and straw hats. To his astonishment, however, they were fairly handsome, even though carelessness and a decided lack of elegance should have stood in direct opposition to that. This fact, however, was not what was most impressionable, what impressed him was that they seemed very familiar and intimate with each other (Naruto was freaked out to see two men holding hands; it seemed so very ... girlish and importunate).

"What is it, boy?" the man with the gruff voice asked, perceiving that Naruto was troubled with something (any person would have suspected that given how pale and agonised he looked.). His partner, who inspected Naruto thoroughly, also had concern etched on his features and was about to speak when the aforesaid just walked away, letting himself only know by slamming a door shut.

"I really don't know what's with youths these days."

"Maybe you scared him off with that disgusting visage of yours."

"Shut up, and do something useful for once. Like going to the old man's room for example and seeing whether everything's alright."

* * *

Walking back the slippery, creaking floor to his room, Naruto did not give the horrid surroundings a second thought; again and again, he could only see the dead man's face in front of him (it was as if an invisible thread had caught hold of him and was repeatedly pulling him back to the cursed room like a helpless puppet). Though he had not known the man, he could not forget that Hisaya, in spite of his wretchedness, appalling appearance and disquieting manner of smiling, had been a good man. No, he might not have been an outstanding host or a charismatic individual, but Hisaya had been kind and earnest (which was rather hard to find these days).

"You look like you've seen a ghost," a voice said, interrupting his heavy, oppressing chain of thoughts (which Naruto was truly grateful for because he felt as if his legs were made of lead, and he would break to pieces, if he didn't snap out if it already).

Still, Naruto was paralysed when he noticed that Sasuke, whom he had believed to be gone, was present – and ironically, he did not look as if he had the intention of leaving at any given time.

For once in his life, Naruto did not protest or try to confront Sasuke – he was numb and on the verge of heaving (he was nauseous, panicked and truly scared; his thoughts were spinning in circles like a merry-go round gone askew, about to fall apart into a hundred thousand pieces).

"I…" Naruto started, but he found himself incapable of uttering another syllable. Not only did he feel on the verge of collapsing, he knew that he was being pathetic. Here he was, behaving like an incoherent fool, not only acting against his principles, but stammering like a dim-witted fool.

No, he did not need to be – _was not_ -- weak. Then, without knowing why, he beckoned towards Sasuke, who was watching him with a wary expression, and pulled him into a hug. Being about the same height, it was not difficult for Naruto to embrace him; to his surprise, he noted that Sasuke was warm (and that warmth made him nearly feel electrified, for it assured him that Sasuke was alive and with him).

"What is it?" Sasuke asked angrily, rolling his eyes. Obviously, he was not pleased with the contact, even though his features expressed no outright disgust or discomfort: he just did not like to be surprised. Or, he just wanted to conceal that he rather enjoyed being touched in such a way (one could never know). When Naruto let go, Sasuke only looked at him without betraying a single emotion.

"I thought you'd left. That's all," Naruto somehow managed to state with a bemused expression. He was more confused than anything; he nearly felt like in an alternate dimension where everything was possible (perhaps he had still not woken up from that obscure nightmare).

"Maybe I should have done that. Your stupid expression makes me want to heave," Sasuke muttered, folding his hands over his chest and eyeing the room with keen disgust. "But I didn't leave and to answer your question: I went out for a walk. The smell in this place nearly drove me crazy."

"I wasn't going to, asshole. As much as might want to disbelieve me, my life doesn't revolve around you."

It sounded like a lie, even to Naruto's own ears.

He had been dreaming and obsessing over Sasuke for years; there was no use of denying it. That didn't mean, however, that he was going to kiss Sasuke's feet now (he hadn't been reduced to such a poor display of pride yet). No, Naruto intended to remain calm and cool: he would teach Sasuke a lesson. He was fed up with being the one who always scrutinised.

"I doubt that. You've probably been obsessing and dreaming about me for years," Sasuke said with a smirk, making Naruto look up in disgust (he hated it how the bastard seemed to be able to read his thoughts).

"Maybe, but then you have to confess that you've been doing the same," Naruto answered back with a grin, trying to challenge Sasuke into saying something stupid. To his disappointment, however, the boy remained perfectly tranquil.

"In your fucking dreams, idiot..."

All of sudden, Naruto remembered what had occurred (he remembered the room, the blasted old man, Haku and nearly seeing Sasuke die); once more, he felt that nausea coming over him and his legs weaken.

"I've been to see the old man."

Again, Sasuke didn't react.

"I didn't ask you about that, and I don't care."

"He's dead...I just found him…dead, unmoving."

"So? At least we'd don't have to pay for the shabby arrangements now," Sasuke's reasonably quiet voice uttered.

Naruto opened his mouth to reprimand Sasuke, but then he discarded the thought from his mind: he felt that it was not necessary. Besides, Sasuke wouldn't understand – he was not going to offer him any consolation or explanation (and for a second, Naruto longed for Iruka and Sakura, who would have offered him a myriad of explanations). That realisation provided him with another thought: he longed for home; he wanted to leave and forget the chilling desolation of this place. Most of all, he just wanted to forget that places like that existed at all; they disturbed him – complex, disenchanting things tended to made him feel weary and perturbed (and he couldn't feel like that because weariness, this feeling of being so utterly helpless and tired was the first step that led to downfall).

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?" Sasuke asked somehow awkwardly, not daring to look Naruto into the face, but opting to stare at the floor instead.

For a second Naruto asked he whether he was trapped in some strange delirium that had been induced by drinking too much whisky (which was a rather illogical assumption, considering that Naruto never drank). He could not nor wanted to believe that Sasuke actually cared, that the brooding, apathetic behaviour was nothing but a façade: he didn't want to seem weak in front of him. This was too confusing, too mind-numbing and sudden.

"Sasuke…just don't. I don't want to talk about it. You wouldn't understand it anyway."

He believed that this was enough – Sasuke was not an obnoxious person; he wouldn't probe for a deeper meaning. He never had and, perhaps, that had – and was – one of the main reasons why Naruto liked being with Sasuke. Certainly, in spite of the misunderstandings and bickering, there was an unspoken understanding between them that even Naruto, in his obliviousness and inability to grasp things quickly, was aware of. Again, though he could not pinpoint why, he knew that Sasuke understood him, that they were similar to each other to some degree.

"Why do you always avoid talking about your own feelings, Naruto? It's unfair that you're always the one that forces me to open up, but refuse to confide in me, too."

"Why do you care, Sasuke? Are your hormones confusing you or are you so desperate to get laid that you're even willing to lie?"

Though he did not mean to lash out his frustrations on Sasuke, it was a matter of convenience to throw all that blame on him; he couldn't carry the weight on his own (he was only human and like all humans he needed someone to ease his wounds). Therefore, he intended to pick up an argument with Sasuke in order to feel like himself again: he itched for a good fight and there wasn't another person with whom he fought as well as he did with Sasuke.

"Listen to yourself, dobe. You're talking bullshit."

"So, you don't have any power over me: you can't force me to talk."

"It would take just one punch in the make you talk, idiot. You're powerless."

"I'm not as powerless as you …" Naruto started until he recalled that in one aspect, he was truly powerless. Looking at Sasuke, he realised that he would never be able to let go of him, that he would never be fully satisfied until …until Sasuke was part of his life again (Naruto felt foolish all of a sudden: he had never realised that he was such a sap).

No, he wouldn't and couldn't pick up a fight with Sasuke; it wouldn't ease things at all.

Thinking that, Naruto started to laugh. It wasn't a healthy laugh, but Naruto couldn't help it (it was like a malicious ticking, similar to a goat licking your legs). It was a broken laugh; he laughed the way a guitar without strings creates music – it was a jarring, disturbing sound (it wasn't a laugh at all, but more like a cry). When it was over, Naruto remained silent, ashamed of it all.

Sasuke, who had remained silent during that whole ordeal, hadn't furrowed an eyebrow: there hadn't much else he could have done (Naruto's laughing had been that transfixing and odd). Yet when it was over, Sasuke grabbed him by the shoulders and for a moment just captured Naruto's attention with his piercing stare; he could not tell whether Sasuke intended to punch him to death or kiss him.

To his amazement, Sasuke chose the second option and some part inside Naruto nearly went insane from the euphoria and disbelief. The kiss, unlike their previous session, was gentle and tentatively assuring; it was awkward and fragile (as breakable and fleeting as the flapping of a bird's wings), as if Sasuke feared that the ghost of Itachi might spring up from somewhere and mock him.

Sasuke didn't really do more than press his mouth against Naruto's, offering him the only the comfort he knew (the brush of his lips was so light and unforced that it was nearly like being kissed by the wind). Therefore – for this hesitance and nearly fearsome offering – that single consolation meant more than a thousand words could have conveyed. It was touching and comforting: like the purring of cat that is sprawled out in front of a fireplace.

Naruto, who began to understand what Sasuke was trying to accomplish, accepted the gesture and closing his eyes, lost himself in the moment. Then, as quickly as the kiss had started, it ended (it ended as quickly as the trespassing light of a car that quickly illuminates a room and then is off on its way again).

It wasn't necessary to be passionate; they had a lifetime in front of them. Or so Naruto, who was an eternal optimist, hoped. No, Naruto did not forget (he would probably never forget what had occurred at the inn), but for the time being he felt that he could remain calm and not succumb to the dreariness he had nearly become a victim of (Naruto was strong and could not allow himself to succumb to anything, least of all despair); he was not weak, and he certainly was not alone. He was going to take Sasuke home and that was sufficient.


End file.
